


Soul of a Warrior

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This is a stand alone story.I've said it before but I seem to get story ideas in the strangest places. Church has been one of them. Just like this one popped into my head during services today. LOL!This story didn't take long to write and I wanted to put up something.Due to a death in the family, Eight Years After's next chapter may be delayed. Actually it's my cousin's aunt whom I also knew very well that just passed away. So don't know how much time I'll have to devote to that story this week.Hope you like this. And NO there will be no sequel.++++





	Soul of a Warrior

_Somewhere outside of Paris_

Clashing of blades echoed all around them, as the inseparables had been ambushed bringing a letter of great import back to His Majesty.

At first they had been greatly outnumbered. Thanks to teamwork, and their fighting skills, those numbers had dwindled down considerably. The odds were more than even now.

Fighting in a circle, Athos, Porthos and Aramis quickly ended the last of their opponents.

"Has anyone seen d'Artagnan?" questioned Aramis. Scouring the area for their youngest the lad appeared to have vanished.

"Whelp was near that building last I saw 'i'm." Worry was in Porthos' voice. A glance at Athos' set face told him that they wouldn't be leaving here without the kid. As if they ever would.

Swiveling his head toward the structure that had seen better days Athos gripped his musket in one hand, sword at the ready in the other. Aramis and Porthos did the same, as together they entered the building. Upon setting foot inside, what they surmised at one time had been a church, they heard sounds of steel ringing out.

++++

Sword arm aching from continual use, d'Artagnan grimaced when another solid strike against his blade strained sore muscles. His adversary was quite skilled. Something he hadn't been expecting from a simple voleur. Losing his footing, he found himself down upon the ground. His rapier had been kicked away, beyond his reach. Main gauche soon followed the same fate. So now d'Artagnan found himself weaponless and at the mercy of this canaille.

Knowing his opponent wasn't planning on showing d'Artagnan any mercy, he was out of options. That was until he spied an odd shaped weapon laying upon what looked to be a crumbled altar. Quickly rolling to one side, d'Artagnan stretched his arm out until his fingers managed to grasp the object. Just as he did so, the voleur struck out. But where the enemy expected his sword to cut into flesh and blood instead the other man's weapon came into contact with a blade mightier than his own.

D'Artagnan's weapon was hooked on one end and he used that to his advantage. The word _khopesh_ kept running in his mind but he hadn't known what that meant nor why he thought upon it in the first place. What d'Artagnan had understood was that the sword began to feel warm to the touch, a faint glow surrounded the blade. Where the unknown weapon had been dull and rusted in parts, it now shone with a brilliance that was nearly blinding in its intensity. Indeed his enemy thought so too as the voleur began backing away from him.

It was then that d'Artagnan felt revitalized and kept advancing against his adversary. This time the tables were turned. The canaille was now the one upon the ground and at mercy to d'Artagnan's blade. About to deliver a killing blow it had been the voices of his three brothers that made him come back to himself.

" _D'ARTAGNAN!_ " Noting the change that came over his protégé the minute the pup had touched the foreign looking weapon, Athos became uneasy. " _LEAVE HIM TO FACE THE KING'S JUSTICE!_ " When the lad's sword arm froze in mid-air, the face that turned back toward Athos was not that of his young Gascon friend. The boy's eyes became a pair of solid black orbs. Noting a swirling mist within their depths, he crossed himself. Usually he left heavenly prayer up to Aramis but this was something out of Athos' realm of experience. Quickly looking over at his other friends he noted their jaws dropping open in shock. "Aramis," he hissed, "what is that?"

"If you're asking me if that's d'Artagnan," reaching inside his shirt Aramis pulled out his crucifix kissing it reverently, "non, tis not."

Porthos' heavy breathing was the only thing that could be heard, in the silence that had descended. "Ya think le diable's got into the kid?"

Stepping closer to the youth, Aramis studied d'Artagnan or whomever was currently occupying their pup. The boy's head tilted to one side, in turn studying Aramis. The black orbs had softened not as menacing as before and the lad's stance was more relaxed, less threatening now. Deciding it was safe, Aramis held out his hand for the strange looking blade. 

Looking at his khopesh, and back again at Aramis, the part of him that was still d'Artagnan released the curved sword into the older man's care.

"Merci." Taking the weapon Aramis gave it a cursory once over, more concerned upon how d'Artagnan fared.

"Ana mesh fahmak." That voice surely didn't belong to him, d'Artagnan thought. Those words he uttered were as foreign to him as England would be. What the deuce had he gotten himself into this time? Athos was going to kill him!

"Whoa!" Grabbing both Athos and Aramis, shoving them out of the way, Porthos began to fear for their youngest and for themselves. "Where the 'ell did that come from?" His friends seemed just as lost for words. In unvoiced unison, all three of them unsheathed their rapiers pointing them at d'Artagnan.

The inseparables all started shouting at him. Each man probably felt that perhaps they could get through to d'Artagnan. All it did was cause him to develop a raging headache. The other part of him grew very annoyed and then angry, because the language was unfamiliar to it. Out of the two of them d'Artagnan was the most vexed, telling the entity that his brothers were speaking French. "Ana mabatkalemsh faransawi." Realizing he had spoken the foreign words out loud, d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"Whatever d'Artagnan is saying tis not in our native tongue." Frightened for his protégé, Athos' helpless gaze rested upon Aramis.

Why did his friends always appeal to him when such bizarre events occurred? Aramis certainly had no answers for them. When that unnatural voice began speaking again he cringed, it was so not that of their pup that he felt like crying. Believing that he was being asked a question, Aramis tried to pay attention.

"Esmak eeh?" Fighting for control, d'Artagnan explained. "He wants to know your name."

Relieved d'Artagnan was still with them, Aramis bowed formally to him. "Aramis."

Pointing to himself, d'Artagnan responded in kind. "Montu."

"Aramis?" Touching his friend's back, Athos' troubled features needed no translation. "What are you doing?"

"Tis called communication," drawled Aramis with a quirk of his brows. "You should learn to try it some time." 

"Tis not the time for levity," snapped Athos.

"When is it ever?" Throwing that back at his brother Aramis caught a quirk of young lips twitching. At least he had amused the puppy.

"It all started when the kid touched that sword!" Porthos never understood how a former farm boy could find so much trouble without even trying.

"If he had not," huffed Athos, "the lad would be dead."

"There's that, I guess." Reluctantly agreeing, Porthos' eyes remained locked on their young one.

Touching his right temple, d'Artagnan became slightly disoriented. Tipping sideways, he was lucky when Porthos caught him before he hit the ground. 

"Didn't ya get enough beauty sleep last night, whelp?" When the lad didn't counter with a cheeky retort, Porthos' smile slipped. He was trying to lighten the dark mood surrounding them, as Aramis had with Athos. Neither of them were very good at it. "Captin's gonna need a good stiff drink over this one when we get back."

"Mmmmm," hummed Aramis. Looking over the ruins, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. "D'Artagnan, ask him who he had been."

The answer had been instantaneous, with d'Artagnan translating for Montu. "A falcon-god of war."

"Military." Waving a hand airily, Athos dryly retorted, "Of course he would be." Bien in for a penny, in for a pound. "From where?"

"Egypt." Observing his mentor's demeanor, d'Artagnan was aware that Athos was trying to hold onto his temper by the barest of threads.

Pinching the bridge of his nose Athos' forlorn gaze rested once again upon the pup. "Only you, d'Artagnan." And in afterthought added, "You really need to work upon that."

"All I did was grab a weapon to defend myself," whined d'Artagnan pouting adorably, looking all of his eighteen years.

"I don't s'pose your new friend knows why he's inside your body?" Folding his arms, Aramis tried to calm his swirling emotions. Such a thing was unheard of. If the church got wind of this, or worse - Richelieu, the boy wouldn't stand a chance. The Powers That Be might convince King Louis to have the lad burned as a witch. None of them would stand for that of course. The entire Garrison would be in an uproar over it. Nearly everyone there loved the Gascon youngster.

"I've already asked Montu that and he's remained silent."

"Gotta be that blade. 'As ta be," insisted Porthos. "Twas cursed. Only explanation that makes any sense outta all this."

"Oh would not that make Cardinal Richelieu's day?" uttered Athos with a tone of dread lacing his voice. Focusing upon his protégé, he noted d'Artagnan's lips curve upward. The warrior must have said something again to the pup. "Do not keep us in suspense, lad. What did Montu say?"

But it wasn't d'Artagnan that replied. "Maa Kheru."

"Which means?" On his last nerve, Athos wasn't in the mood for any more word games.

"Montu said that I was _true of voice_."

"Didn't take 'im long ta figure out what makes the whelp tick."

"D'Artagnan's an innocent soul. He hasn't had the opportunity to build up layers to guard his heart against this wicked world." Staring into their youth's eyes, which had finally returned to normal, Aramis placed a kiss upon the lad's forehead. "Now he has the soul of a warrior residing within him."

"Which we shall endeavor to remove at the earliest opportunity." Having firmly pointed that out, Athos crooked a finger at the pup. "Brother, let us be off for home." This time d'Artagnan's brown eyes remained the same color but the voice that came out of the lad's mouth was Montu's again.

"Akh?" Pointing to himself and then each of the soldiers, d'Artagnan realized Montu was puzzled again because none of them resembled one another.

Responding, d'Artagnan's voice came out crystal clear. "A brother isn't always born of blood." Feeling that the warrior spirit understood, d'Artagnan followed his friends back outside. Mounting Zad, d'Artagnan twisted around in the saddle to look at the inseparables. "Mashiin?"

"Oy!" Shaking his head, Porthos winced. "This is gonna take some gettin' used ta."

++++

_Notes:_

This storyline was similar to my other genre I write in - Stargate SG-1. So Montu being in d'Art is sort of like having a Goa'uld in one's head. But without all the nastiness that goes with it. Last time I used Egyptian language was quite awhile back when writing an SG-1 story. When I went to look for my notes I discovered I don't have them any longer so had to go back to Egyptian translation sites. So, once again, if someone knows the language and spots something not right gently let me know and give me the correction and I will change it.

For information on Montu: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montu  
Likewise for the curved sword - Khopesh: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khopesh

 _Voleur_ \- thief  
_Canaille_ \- scoundrel  
_Le diable's_ \- the devil's

 _Egyptian translations:_  
_Ana mesh fahmak_ \- I don't understand you"  
_Ana mabatkalemsh faransawi_ \- I don't speak French  
_Esmak eeh_ \- What is your name  
_Maa Kheru_ \- true of voice  
_Akh_ \- brother  
_Mashiin_ \- We leave now?


End file.
